


faulty by design

by Fleurwinks



Series: last thing we should do is go slow [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, only posting so this wasn't in vain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:23:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleurwinks/pseuds/Fleurwinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are ways to keep in touch."</p><p>"What if I don't want to?" comes out immediately. As soon as it leaves his mouth, Mayuzumi knows that if that were the phrase to push Akashi away he would want to reel it back.</p><p>(They don't date at Rakuzan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	faulty by design

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this...last year sometime, and never shared it. Kind of dont love it anymore but like whats the point of not getting it out ahhhh
> 
> Knowing the Rakuzan epilogue might make this make more sense:
> 
> http://violinic.tumblr.com/post/102811782705/
> 
> Of course, this diverts from that canon but I used a couple of lines from there lol

“Mayuzumi-san.”

Mayuzumi has his boxers and trousers on successfully by the time Akashi says his name, everyone else having filtered out minutes ago.

“What,” he says offhandedly, trying to find his goddamn shirt.

“Are you familiar with the term ‘friends with benefits’?”

Mayuzumi’s insides jump about half a foot and he stares at Akashi in horror.

“Oh - I thought you would know. Are you aware at all, or —”

“I am familiar with it,” Mayuzumi croaks. “I’m just not familiar with you asking about it.”

Akashi looks amused, and turns back to his locker.

Mayuzumi is not in an adventurous enough mood to be bothered evoking an explanation right now: he’s tired and half dressed and had far too much interaction with the team today. He finally spies his shirt underneath everything else in his bag and yanks it out... ends up careering backwards and splaying his hand over Akashi’s (clothed, thankfully) chest to brace himself

and everything goes spiralling from there.

“I didn’t think you were this much of an instigator, Mayuzumi-san.” One day, Mayuzumi thinks. One day he will give this kid the punch he deserves.

“Shut up,” he mutters instead, pulls his hand away as if Akashi is dirty.

“Why? I’m pleased you appear to be bringing attention to it; I was going to have to approach you myself, imminently.”

Mayuzumi casts a look around the empty locker room, as if trying to read the strange words Akashi has set bouncing off the walls. He sighs.

“Look, I wasn’t coming onto you - I fell. There’s nothing to ‘bring attention to’.”

“Mayuzumi-san,” Akashi says, folding his gym shorts neatly. “It would be preferable to end this waiting game now instead of letting it rest unheeded.”

Mayuzumi raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you on about?”

Akashi smiles faintly.

“You’re usually so clever, too," he says. It would be completely unreadable if not for the way his eyes dip down to Mayuzumi’s waistband.

“ _What_ ,” Mayuzumi near hisses, and then Akashi is in his space so frighteningly quickly he doesn’t even reflexively move back. He just has the stupid boy radiating body heat at him and knows his own unclothed chest must be doing the same thing right back.

“I’m referring to the want, Chihiro.” And - what the fuck - Akashi sets his hand right over where Mayuzumi’s dick is under his clothing, and his face is at his neck, mouth right next to his ear. Mayuzumi’s always had a few inches on him, but he's never thought about how Akashi is the perfect height to nose at his neck, how he doesn’t quite have to stand on tiptoes to murmur in his ear.

He’s thinking about it now.

“You must have noticed.” Akashi’s lips graze the skin under his jaw. “By now, surely. The mutual attraction is growing tangible.” The hand on his crotch is seeping warmth through his track pants, and that’s going to be a problem really soon. “You must know.” Mayuzumi closes his eyes to steel himself.

Yeah, maybe he thought about it. When one day, he pulled his jersey off over his head and caught Akashi eyeing him; controlled, like everything else, but still burning. Or when they had one on one training and whenever their bare arms brushed it felt like a fucking electric current.

“No,” Mayuzumi says. The lie smashes and bleeds, all over the grey tiles. Akashi laughs softly into his neck.

“There’s no point being defiant. Of course you’ve noticed,” the mouth at his throat presses in a fleeting kiss, “how we should be banging by now.”

It’s because he’s not speaking like he normally does, Mayuzumi reasons. It’s because he’s being informal and more of a hot blooded teenager than Mayuzumi’s ever seen him that he’s listening, letting the words go straight to his groin.

“Stop it,” he says, less of a growl than he’d like. “Akashi —”

The hand on his dick starts barely moving and no fucking way -

“I swear,” Mayuzumi says icily, “if you leave a mark, I swear to God —”

Akashi stops laving his tongue over his neck for a total of two heartbeats.

“You’re not convincing.” Then he’s back at it and Mayuzumi realises with annoyance that his neck is so taut there’s no way Akashi won’t think he’s unaffected.

“This has come from _nowhere_.”

Akashi hums. “Nowhere, really - I can’t speak for you, but I think someone would have to be blind not to see this coming.”

Mayuzumi scowls.

“You’ve thought about it.”

“I haven’t,” he lies.

“Then why do I get the feeling,” Akashi’s hand strokes him over his clothes devastatingly lightly, “you would enjoy getting rid of tension this way as much as I would?” He’s palming Mayuzumi now, and it’s so stressful trying not to get hard (hard _er_ , he was a little turned on by the neck mouthing, okay?) that he struggles forming a proper response.

“I don’t - we’re not doing this.” He tries to push Akashi away from him, but his arms are being held in place before he can even lift them.

There's determination, and then there's _that_ , and saying this earns him a short laugh.

“You should consider, is all I’m trying to get you to do. No commitment. Just when we need it.” He speaks so damn consolingly. Mayuzumi can feel his lower body nodding its approval of Akashi’s words, but there’s still blood left in his brain for logic even if his skull is near cracking from grinding his teeth.

“I’m not going to fuck around with you just because you want something better than your hand, alright?”

Akashi puffs warm air onto his neck when he says, “This is far from a last resort.”

Mayuzumi doesn’t say anything.

Akashi steps back, and everything feels cold and exposed.

“The offer still stands.”

He hasn’t even made it three steps away before Mayuzumi swears in frustration and grabs him by the shoulder.

(Akashi smirks against his lips, and he makes sure to bite.)

 

* * *

 

One of the perks of being captain, Mayuzumi supposes, is having a key to the gym that allows access way after hours.

“Shit,” Mayuzumi says, and then bangs his head against the lockers. Akashi pulls off long enough to remark, “Do you want someone to hear,” before getting his mouth straight back on him.

Much to his chagrin, Akashi still has a definitive hold of the game, and he’s on his knees - with a dick in his mouth no less. He’s gotten good at this, pacing, and paying attention to everywhere that needs it. When he trails his mouth down to tongue flat at his balls, he keeps a hand pumping Mayuzumi in a tight, hot grip that rubs all the right places.

The point where Mayuzumi’s back presses against the metal lockers is no longer cool and Akashi’s spare hand warms his hip. He can feel himself sweating, even though his shirt was discarded at the start.

Mayuzumi pushes at the soft hair falling onto Akashi’s forehead, then (because he can, because he wants to see how much Akashi will let him) pulls him firmly closer with the hand that’s on the back of his skull, until his nose is at the base and Akashi draws a sharp breath like he’s inhaling the scent of his skin.

He doesn’t gag, just swallows around him, and the constrictions of Akashi’s throat vibrate up Mayuzumi’s cock in one shaky rush.

Mayuzumi can’t stop his legs from shaking, just once, and he feels the change in pace Akashi initiates to bring him to the edge, his hand on the jut of his hip slackening and the one on his thigh pressing like he wants him to lift his hips up -

It’s just sex. They’ve made it clear between them from the first panted we’re not dating to the fifth, but Mayuzumi always feels the need to reinforce it, like he might forget -

But when he fucks into Akashi’s mouth slightly harder than he should, feels everything pulse as he comes into wet, soft heat, Akashi just holds tighter to the back of his thighs and sucks purposefully, maybe trying to suck his brains out, and everything he was going to say dies on his tongue.

“Just sex,” he forces out five minutes later, in what he hopes is an authoritative yet flippant tone. Maybe he’s becoming superstitious or something, or in the cynical world obsessive compulsive, because Mayuzumi really doesn’t want to leave without those words as his end tag. Akashi just continues putting his pants back on, somehow managing to remain dignified, and agrees, “You’re right.”

And, really **-** how much blame can you dish out to a sixteen and eighteen year old boy for periodically getting each other off?

Getting each other off gradually evolves into actual fucking, and while Mayuzumi didn’t quite see that coming, he finds he doesn’t mind it.

The form of sex they have doesn’t change the function of the whole sex _thing_ , so it’s fine that fingering Akashi after practise to open him up is literally the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

It’s getting ridiculous; Akashi keeps lube in his bag as well as his locker these days. One time, they go back to Mayuzumi’s house to do it because while wall sex is great (and the shower element makes it all the more appealing), it’s physically draining.

(It’s different to the locker room fucks, because lying horizontally means Akashi doesn’t have to wrap his legs around Mayzumi’s middle since there’s no issue of trying to stay stabilised; but he still does. That’s not to say it’s bad - his calves actually feel nice pressing warm against Mayuzumi’s back, and it feels good knowing the shift of his back muscles is one of the things melting away Akashi’s control. After, when he’s still lying down, Mayuzumi watches the other boy gathering his things, completely collected. He notices the slight stagger in Akashi’s walk, and they really didn’t think this through because Akashi’s supposed to be walking all the way to the train station now —

“My ride is here,” Akashi says, looking at his phone. Mayuzumi rolls his eyes with a reluctant sort of fondness, because Akashi never goes into anything blind.)

Spending time with Akashi in intimate, dirty ways makes him start to analyse the younger boy's interactions with other people - trying to figure out what lines he’s crossed, or pummelled through. Mayuzumi notices how his sentences are measured meticulously, like if they aren’t the right size they will be sold as seconds. They’re always the perfect length for Mayuzumi, too, even though he could swear sometimes Akashi’s breath hitches at the wrong time, when they’re just kissing, not even thinking with their dicks.

(“Wh —" is all Akashi manages before Mayuzumi has his mouth covered with his own. It doesn’t take long for Akashi to start kissing back, tilt his head for a better angle with a soft sigh. Good, Mayuzumi thinks is a fitting description for what having Akashi pressed between him and the cold corridor wall feels like. Still, he forces himself to pull away when Akashi’s hands find the small of his back, and forces himself not to react to the wet sound their lips make when he moves his head back.

“You’re late for class,” he says, letting go and walking towards the door at the end of the deserted corridor. “Don’t make me wait at practise.”

Akashi’s rumpled uniform is a minor victory compared to his parted, shining lips.)

Mayuzumi's learnt countless exchangeable phrases that he can use to deliver the same message (“It’s just sex”, “I can clean myself”, “You can’t stay over after”), and, if honed, the skill could become a useful one for exams.

Despite this, finding one to roll off his tongue sometimes takes longer than it should; not because of reluctance, but because when Akashi nuzzles into his palm, calls him by name, the words seem to dry futile and go stale in the air.

With the addition of Akashi's hands skirting everywhere on his skin too slow, all over, and the shapeless excuses getting caught in the neck of the bottle, Mayuzumi wonders how everything's going to function much longer. Then he sees Akashi in practise and remembers a phrase he read: butter wouldn’t melt.

He still instructs Mayuzumi like an all knowing despot, addresses him along with the rest of the team and looks at him no longer than he does everyone else. You would never be able to guess anything’s happened and Mayuzumi doesn’t like how it's a source of endless irritation for him.

(“I can’t have you standing doing nothing. Run laps until I’ve finished with Reo.” Akashi’s face is devoid of implication, slightly sweaty from the twenty minutes of practise they’ve had so far. Mayuzumi tries not to frown.

“What if that makes me too tired?” It’s not his usual subtlety; even Mibuchi seems to pick up on some undertone.

Akashi doesn’t flinch. “Stop procrastinating.” And, begrudgingly, Mayuzumi starts running but knows there has to be a loose thread _somewhere_.)

A favourite pastime of his is tracking the path of Akashi's gaze to count the items that burn under it and which ones it can't cut through. He spends a lot of time trying to figure out which one he is, and Akashi asks him why he spends so long looking in the mirror when they finally get dressed and erase the evidence of everything they just did.

(Akashi brushes their hands together when they pass in the corridor and Mayuzumi thinks: maybe, maybe. )

* * *

 

 

They play Seirin in the Winter Cup final and it feels like being winded. Once for the loss and several more when Akashi doesn’t hesitate to use him like a game piece that is redundant enough to be discarded. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if Akashi wasn’t the one who'd coaxed him back into basketball in the first place.

(He hadn't even reacted badly, or sulked, instead had pulled Akashi out of his rut when no one else tried to but still - )

At least _it’s_ just _sex_ doesn’t sound so questioning in his head anymore.

Mayuzumi doesn’t look up from the page he’s on when the door to the roof clicks open. But, quick as a knife, he says, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

A falter in footsteps.

“You don’t know what I’m here for. Don’t be so quick to judge.”

Mayuzumi scoffs. “Like you can talk.”

“I’m quick to decide,” Akashi corrects placidly.

Mayuzumi resolves to ignore him in favour of his book, and then:

Calmly, “Mayuzumi-senpai."

Now? He’s pulling that out _now_? If only Mayuzumi trusted his expression enough, because then he would laugh in his face.

(He’s been waiting for someone to call him with respect this whole time, except nobody told him getting respect and nothing else after having your pride demeaned slowly like a gas leak felt so awful.)

“What’s with that?” he says, isn’t really sure if Akashi hears him because his next words aren’t arranged like an answer.

“I’d like to thank you —’’

“God,” Mayuzumi mutters.

“— for serving the Razukan team this year,” Akashi continues.

Mayuzumi stares hard at the white margin of a glossy page, and while the weather conditions of his stomach are near hazardous he’s relieved to find his face feels perfectly still. “This year wasn’t boring, at least. I guess I owe you that much.”

“Your hard work was appreciated.”

Akashi looks way too formal, and too high above him that Mayuzumi wants to stand up and be the one looking down but it isn't even worth the hassle.

“Was it really okay for you not to attend the retirement ceremony?” Akashi says. Halfway between an accusation and a genuine question.

“I don’t like those sorts of things,” says Mayuzumi. Never has, maybe would if he felt like he actually belonged to a team. Akashi nods barely, has eyes like polished marbles, and just like that Mayuzumi knows what’s coming next.

He considers maybe jumping off the ledge and waving goodbye.

“About the last match -”

It should be like trying not to tread on glass —

“I asked you to lower yourself.”

— but the shards just show themselves out for Akashi and he slices the air with ease.

(Heartless, he’d heard an audience member say once he’d come off the court, and he knew they were talking about his play. Their comment wasn’t wrong - at all, but then he’s always known Akashi isn’t conscious of feelings on the court. He’s known ever since he first saw him play, which is why it bugged him that it was still gnawing between his chest and stomach hours after, when his mum asked how the match was and he honestly couldn’t say anything.)

Mayuzumi says “Yeah” because that statement is true, and Akashi isn’t here to start a fight.

“It was necessary.”

He seems to be here to inflict _some_ sort of shit upon him, though.

“I get that,” Mayuzumi says tightly.

“That is not to say it wasn’t regretful,” Akashi says, tone so conversational he could kick him to the ground.

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Mayuzumi drips in every grit of contempt that he can. “Your regret makes it all better.”

The wind sighs.

“It would have been foolish of me,” says Akashi, "to think there would be no adverse effects between us.” And a penny drops, then, somewhere, as Mayuzumi realises: Akashi isn’t going to apologise in the way that matters.

Mayuzumi grips his novel harder and feels the cover creasing.

“You can’t think I want any more to do with you.” A bit harsher than what he really means, but it’s safer to be too brittle than too malleable. “We were on the same team and I’m done with that, and in a couple of months I’ll be out of this school and we won’t even have that in common anymore. So,” Mayuzumi keeps his gaze steely, “there’s nothing between us left.”

Then Akashi says, as decisive as moving a chess piece to attack, “The most prominent relation between us was neither teammates nor schoolmates.”

There’s quiet. Mayuzumi doesn’t break it immediately, mostly because it feels like Akashi is leading this misadventure, since he was the one who came up here for something - obviously not to apologise. Also a bit because Mayuzumi finds himself liking innate silence on the roof with Akashi.

He’s not sure who the fresh wave of hate running through him is for.

“Whatever,” he says. _That doesn’t change what you did_ goes unsaid. But there’s a weird conflict in his pulse that Mayuzumi hopes hasn’t bled into his voice -  almost as if he wants to talk about how the way Akashi used him severed everything that could have been more than surface attraction between them, despite the fact he doesn’t even want to think about it.

It will pass soon enough.

“I want to make it clear,” Akashi smoothes his words over the gaps like plastic wrap, “that victory is my only aim on the court.”

I fucking know, Mayuzumi wants to spit out. He wants the bell to ring so Akashi will be rudely caught in a sentence, and he won’t be so pulled together for once. But there’s still twenty-five minutes to go; he gave himself a lot of time to do whatever this is and maybe the universe doesn’t favour him as much as he favours himself.

“As a result, preserving the wishes, and personal goals, of my teammates is an indulgence that cannot be upheld or promised to withstand a tremulous match.”

Did he write this down, Mayuzumi thinks wildly. Did he hire a formal speech writer -

“You must understand, Mayuzumi-san,” Akashi says. “Intentionally maiming your pride was not my objective; for the team, as your captain and team mate, I only carried out what was my best option.”

(The team, not our team, not my team. Just a vehicle in which to reach victory.)

Mayuzumi’s smile is wry. “Team mates would be a good excuse as to using my ability like that.” Using, more like rubbing in the dirt -

“But you were right before,” and his pulse is definitely coming through in his words now, “the most prominent relation between us was never team mates.”

There's a shift right behind Akashi's eyes. “Mayuzumi-san.” It’s low, and it’s demanding, but Mayuzumi is sick of yielding.

“But we didn’t even win,” he says. “After all that effort that went into screwing with people. Maybe losing was even worse for you, because I’ve had experience in getting fucked over. I’m not supposed to mind whatever the hell you used me for on the court, am I? I’m supposed to _like_ ,” he says the word as if it’s a sour lolly, “being overlooked, because it’s my specialty.”

“Misdirection is not —"

“Don’t give it a fucking fancy name.” Mayuzumi is faintly aware of laughing coming from the sports ground. “You’ve never even done it, always in the spotlight you just —” You were born like that. You got handed persona. “You just throw everything else to hell so you can thrive on the court, you know that, right?’’

(After that match they were all beaten, maybe even a little shaken, on Akashi’s part, but Mayuzumi felt detached from it all. It was over, and he didn’t want to know why watching all the Rakuzan back pats made a lump concrete his throat to suffocation, or why he felt alienated amidst all the pandemonium. It was over, and Akashi hadn’t spared him a glance yet, even in the locker room. He had other things on his mind than giving Mayuzumi condolences he didn’t need anyway. For some niggling reason, Mayuzumi couldn’t say the same about wanting his attention on him. But feelings like that pass soon enough, and soon he wouldn’t want Akashi to turn to him, or think of him. Then the throat lump did the swelling thing and Mayuzumi told himself that will end, too. Afterall, the match did, and that was a maelstrom.

It was over; Mayuzumi felt like loose ends personified and went home feeling grey, grey, and tired, and for the first time in a long time wishing he was someone else.)

Over the rushing in his ears, he hears Akashi move closer.

He rubs his eyes tiredly. “Go.”

“Chihiro —”

“I said go.”

The cutting edge of his tongue is doing better, doing well, even, he notes. Not slipping at all.

He keeps his head in his hands and cuts him off until Akashi must see he’s not going to listen, and leaves quietly. His footsteps have always been so quiet, but Mayuzumi can tell when he’s gone because the wind sounds different. More all consuming, less like background noise.

More certain about something he doesn’t know.

Trying to resume the paragraph he was on is like grappling water with hooked hands, and all the absence of another person’s voice does is make Mayuzumi disgustingly aware of his heartbeat. But he got Akashi to leave. Maybe it’s a little childish, but he finds satisfaction in knowing that what just happened - that strange exchange of unsaid words disguised as pleasantries that cracked and made you want to scramble away like trying not to dip your feet in the tide **-** wasn’t what Akashi had planned.

For someone who always gets what he wants, Akashi needs to be denied more often. It’s a feat Mayuzumi wishes he saw more of and he wonders if he’s a genius or just plain idiotic for being able to perform it.

He got Akashi to leave and realises bitterly it’s still not a win for him.

* * *

 

 

 _I didn’t tell you sorry_ , arrives in a text that week, _because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it_

It’s ten at night, so Mayuzumi inadvertently thinks of Akashi in pajamas and is surprised to find he’d rather keep thinking about that than the clench in his stomach. But he can do this - messaging is his forte, because it’s only hard to keep your face in check if it’s staring at another.

 _well I did_ , he replies, and it reads final.

He’s got his hand on his door knob to pull it shut when his phone vibrates again.

\- _Then know I did too_

Apparently Akashi can’t read.

Mayuzumi has a few ways he could go about replying, but it's so late and dodging is tiresome.

_you dont get it - i wanted you to actually mean it_

Not just state regret to have a clean slate, so you could go back to being unruffled -

\- _Even if I told you I meant it you might not have believed my sincerity_

Correct, but in this case sincerity translates as remorse and now Mayuzumi wants to know.

_look_

_do you feel bad?_

He doesn’t get a reply for a few minutes and considers just going to bed when

\- _yes_

Mayuzumi is a sadist: confirmed.

_good. now leave me be til i graduate_

\- _understood_

That, Mayuzumi thinks while turning off his bedside lamp, was the most oddly satisfying mess of a conversation he’s ever had.

 

* * *

 

On his very last day at Rakuzan, Akashi approaches him and instead of turning away, Mayuzumi says: “When I said leave me till I graduate, I didn’t mean it was free reign directly after.”

Akashi pauses and the wind does a good job of blowing his hair as if he were some protagonist, perhaps on his graduation day instead of Mayuzumi’s. He gives a trace of a smile.

“I came to return this to you.”

He’s holding out a neatly folded shirt - it’s his shirt, Mayuzumi realises, and he'd forgotten he'd left that in his locker. He hesitates before grabbing it, only does after Akashi says, “It’s clean. I washed it”, and he doesn’t know how quite to reply.

And then Akashi says, “Are you happy to be graduating?”

The courtyard is still emptying, and leaves blow around in half hearted tumbles like they’re off to college, too. “I’m happy to be leaving.” What kind of small talk is this, Mayuzumi wonders. Akashi huffs a laugh that outdoes humourless and edges dry.

“You do seem to be.” Then he moves in, minutely, and his face is the same as when he offered his proposal of first string and glory.

(And it hadn’t been what he’d hoped.)

Against the sky’s blue instead of the sterile shade of their uniform, Akashi’s hair hurts his eyes. It’s pretty unlucky, Mayuzumi thinks, as a part effective distraction from whatever Akashi is going to say, that he hadn’t been born with such a shock of hair because then no one would be able to miss him.

(Akashi hadn’t gotten what he wanted, either, that day on the roof.)

For a startling moment, Mayuzumi thinks he is about to call him with a stupid honorific again, and he might not be able to control his flinch upon hearing it.

(God knows what Akashi sought.)

He’s got the feeling he’s developing an association of respect with back stabbing, and can only imagine what wonders that will do for his self worth.

(What had he wanted?)

Akashi’s lips finally move:

“We’ll still talk.”

It’s said with too much finality to be a question, and yet it still is, the uncertainty in his eyes pushed so many layers back you’d need a magnifying glass to catch a glimpse.

The thing is, Mayuzumi’s had practise.

He thinks about sighing to keep up the jig of irritability, but opts not to. It’s ultimately pointless with Akashi, anyway.

He says, “I’m going to —"

“Tokyo, I know.” Akashi’s eyes that dismantle everything stop at Mayuzumi and don’t go through him, don’t burn their way to the brick wall like expected. It’s not good and Mayuzumi forgets if he was going to try to evade the issue or keep talking about universities, and he was already lost be _fore_.

“It’s...far,” he ends up saying dumbly.

Akashi stands perfectly still. "There are ways to keep in touch.”

“What if I don’t want to?” comes out immediately.

Akashi doesn’t say they both know that isn’t the case (even though they both _know_ ), nor does he scoff disbelievingly (something Mayuzumi pleads guilty to). He doesn’t walk away, either, even though this conversation has been tiptoeing around something for so long he might as well.

Instead, he says, “Then there’s nothing I can do about that.”

It’s too undiluted. Mayuzumi looks down and away. There’s no point in equivocating that he doesn’t know what to say because Akashi undoubtedly already knows.

Those leaves that were spinning circles close to the ground are lifted by a gust of wind until they sweep up, over the school buildings and away.

He watches them with some sort of unfounded jealousy.

“I think if you want to get rid of me, now’s your cue,” Akashi says, so docile Mayuzumi swallows.

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” he says, “because I can’t be bothered to tell you to piss off.” He manages to make it sound blasé, even though when Akashi smiles he knows it didn’t cover up shit.

This all feels like the calm after the storm and the part of him that feels like making waves is gradually shrinking.

“Akashi,” he says, and has to pause because although he’s said the next string of words countless times in irritation, or defence, or bemusement, there’s never been this much anticipation. “What do you want?”

Akashi’s hand grips the fabric of his school blazer and he stares at Mayuzumi intently. Intent on what, he wonders, and hates how he always questions Akashi’s motives like a thrilled reader.

“This may not be conventional, and I know you’d appreciate authenticity,” he starts. “But you won’t be here in my third year."

What the hell does that mean? Akashi is looking down at his blazer and..shining his buttons. At a time like this, Mayuzumi thinks in faint frustration. He should answer him, or at least clear up whatever he was on about instead of fussing over himself. He notices Akashi concentrating on the middle one in particular, although it looks like he’s actually fucking it up more than cleaning it - no, Mayuzumi realises; he’s pulling it off -

Akashi holds out the button for Mayuzumi to take and this - there’s no other way this could have been meant —

“I know it’s not conventional,” Akashi repeats softly.

It’s for a fraction of a second Mayuzumi sees him lose his control, but he sees it: Akashi’s hand, palm upward, trembles.

There’s a beat of quiet that melts into two, and Mayuzumi feels rather than hears the beginning of Chihiro on Akashi’s lips as he presses their mouths together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Split into parts because of length - part 2 is a continuation.
> 
> Thanks for reading! c(ﾟ∀ﾟ∩)


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